


On the Ropes

by CypressSunn



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21844273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CypressSunn/pseuds/CypressSunn
Summary: At least one thing in this city never felt like a fight.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 37
Kudos: 516
Collections: 101 Prompts Meme, Yuletide 2019





	On the Ropes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [k8andrewz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/k8andrewz/gifts).



**DISPATCHER:** 911, WHAT'S YOUR EMERGENCY?

 **CALLER:** [SHOUTING IN BACKGROUND] I'M AT ROCKWELL’S GYM ON WASHBURN! TWO MEMBERS ARE— OH MY GOD [A ROAR FOLLOWED BY CHANTING] THEY’RE GONNA BEAT EACH OTHER TO DEATH! YOU GOTTA GET DOWN HERE.

 **DISPATCHER:** WE WILL SEND THE POLICE AND EMS. ARE THEY FIGHTING ON THE PREMISES OR OUTSIDE?

 **CALLER:** WHAT? NO! [CROWD SHOUTS AND BOOS] THEY’RE IN ONE OF THE RINGS! THEY JUST KEEP — THE BELLS ALREADY RUNG TWICE! THERE IS BLOOD EVERYWHERE!

 **DISPATCHER:** KEEP BACK A SAFE DISTANCE. HELP IS ON THE WAY. PLEASE DO NOT TRY TO INTERVENE IN THE MEANTIME.

 **CALLER:** WHAT, YOU THINK I'M CRAZY? ONE OF THEM JUST KNOCKED OUT A COUPLE OF MOLARS AND HE'S GOING BACK FOR THE REST. I AIN'T GETTING IN THE MIDDLE OF THAT!

* * *

The city fights back. 

Its something Eddie has come to understand about his new home. Los Angeles takes nothing lying down; not from the people or the pollution, nor from the concrete or the climate. Under the filters and tinsel and tourist traps, there is always a battle waging somewhere, in some small way. Always ready to boil over into an emergency, into a disaster, into the sirens blaring down the boulevard.

It is why Eddie isn’t at all surprised when the 118 speeds out towards a street brawl. It's just one of those days. One of those weeks. One of those endless stretches that he can no longer quantify. Fires, accidents, injuries; all running together into a constant rhythm. Knockdown, get up, knockdown, get up— because when the city isn’t fighting back, it is picking the fight first.

“Engine 118, be advised th—” **_clunk_** , “—police response is delayed on-site.”

Transmission dips out momentarily as engine reels over a break in the street. Potholes, probably. The scars and cracks along the grid plan are unavoidable. Everywhere the job took them the sunken in pavement rebounds against the wheels and the fifteen thousand pound piece of machinery could never just sail over the little nuisances. It rattles the cabin, makes the windows shake, and leaves the squad bumping into one another. Eddie has had smoother rides on the other side of the planet, strapped into Humvee free roading Helmand sands.

Maybe that’s why Eddie can recognize the struggle. What is is that makes the lush greens of the city rolling by the tinted glass feel so distant. Some days, some rides, Eddie half expects to see an arid waste on the other side of the glass. Expects the next rock in the pavement to be followed by a road splitting explosion— the smell of blood and gasoline in the air. He was back in the desert and the bombs had followed him home. Left a cool panic under Eddie’s skin and his partner flat to the asphalt pinned down and bleeding, gasping in pain. Out of reach.

 **_Clunk_**.

Another one. This time Eddie sways in his seat from where he’s strapped in— sways into Buck, riding beside him. Between them, the back of Buck’s hand touches the back of Eddie’s. A small contact in a small moment that no one else is paying attention to. Not while Cap is mid-run down of the dispatch order. Buck’s got a slight nod, a tight smile on his face when he turns to ever just so to Eddie.

At least one thing in this city never felt like a fight.

* * *

“Wait, this is the gym?” Eddie asks once they pull to a stop. They’re just outside of Crenshaw, parked in front of a rundown facade with uneven blinking lights that read ROCKWELL GYM. “I know this place.”

“You work out here? In this dive?” Chimney multitasks as he pulls his gear and equipment along with Hen, still managing to look appalled at Eddie’s choice in gym memberships. Unstrapping from his seat, Buck looks apologetic, but in agreement. 

“It is kind of a dump.” 

“It’s got its charms,” says Eddie, defensive. Not that Eddie would elaborate on it being the hub of an underground fighting circuit. Nor would they have the time as they hurry towards the scene.

“Stay close and follow any police directives once they arrive,” the captain reminds them, all business, as he disembarks the rig. They push through the front door together, moving forward. “We’re on standard mop-up duty. We patch up the assailants and assess who needs an ambulance and who is fit for the back of a squad car. Otherwise, we stay put until the scene is safe.”

“Uh, Cap? One slight problem.” Buck says, leveling a finger at the steel and glass windows leading from the lobby. “I don’t think the fight is over yet.”

Inside the main gymnasium, Eddie and the others see it too. A growing crowd gathering near the south wall, around the large raised platform of Ring Three. Voices bellow and echo around the high brick walls and metal lined rafters. Over the tops of the sea of bodies, Eddie can make out that mat is a bloodied mess. The sounds of continuous pummeling fists can be heard following boos and gasps and cheers. Eddie and the others get closer, shouldering through the crowd and flashing their shields. The carnage gets clearer; two male combatants, white, mid-twenties or early thirties, still engaged in their assault. Furious and ungloved knuckles out and taking ceaseless swings.

Eddie tallies up the damage he can see. Shredded up bloody fists, scraped joints, red mouths, cut brows, black eyes, more blood.

“How are they still standing?” Buck questions, watching one take a walloping round to the face.

“Adrenaline, aggression, anabolic steroids; take your pick,” Eddie offers up, critiquing a particularly sloppy low blow. He sees amateurs like these every fight night; ones who don’t know how to tap out and forget how the brawl even started. The Tyler Durden types who make fighting a religion and never figure out why they always lose. Eddie’s taken plenty of them down. 

“We getting between all of that?” Chimney asks, tone incredulous.

“Absolutely not,” Bobby promises. Intervention to the point of self endangerment was outside of the guidebook, nothing Bobby would ever ask of them. “We wait until police arrive. Maintain the scene until then.”

“So ‘Thena can tap in?” Hen says, remembering Sergeant Grant’s unit number playing over the dispatch on the way there. 

“She is the one with the gun,” Bobby says, but doesn't look very enthusiastic about the idea. 

Watches the pair charge at each other, huffing laboriously. He’s knocked down bigger idiots than this. “I can take ‘em down, Cap. Just give word.”

Buck jolts forward, pushes an arm between Eddie and where he reaches for the ropes. “Are you crazy? No way!”

Eddie ignores him. Buck’s put himself in scarier situations than this. He doesn’t have a leg to stand on. “Bobby, they’re both staggering. They’re at their limit. We just gotta pull them apart.”

For a moment, Eddie is sure the answer is going to be no. But the captain nods solemnly. “Alright, new plan,” Bobby announces. “Eddie, with me. We’re gonna talk 'em down. Everyone else, get this crowd back and be ready to go. The more time we waste, the more blood these Neanderthals lose.”

Buck drops the arm that holds Eddie back in defeat. “ _Be careful_ ,” he says in a harsh whisper.

Climbing over and under the ropes, Eddie follows Bobby’s lead. Hands raised, declaring their presence to the oblivious fighters. “Los Angeles Fire and Rescue. Step away from each other so we can help you.” The victims slash assailants show no sign of stopping. Bobby raises his voice; “Gentlemen, it's time to pack it in.”

“It’s not over until the bell sounds or he goes down!” one barks, hoarse and animalistic.

“Pretty sure the bells already been rung,” Eddie points out. “And with the combined blood volume you've both lost, neither of you should last much longer. You wanna walk or be wheeled out?”

“He's up because he's stacking!”

“If anyone's juiced up here, it's you!”

They circle in close to each other. Another punch lands, smacking loudly then slides off in a slick of blood.

“That's what the pair of you are fighting about?” Bobby’s voice cuts above the fray. “Which one of you is dosing?”

“I'm one hundred percent natural,” the first puffs, “unlike some people.”

“I won that title clean! I got that sponsorship!”

“You sell gym candy protein shakes!”

Eddie is edging in closer, ducks, and dodges around a punch that flies wild. In the back of Eddie's mind, he thinks he hears Buck call out at him. But everything is underwater, slow and fluid. He surrounded in a fog that doesn’t reach the eyes but blots out sound. This is the part he likes best in any fight. Inside the rush, he could always see where the shots were coming from. Here, here he at least understood why the world was taking swings at him.

“Eddie, wait—” Bobby calls, but it's too late.

Eddie’s gotten between them, one backed into the corner of the ring, his hand outstretched in a halting motion to the other. “The symptoms of long term steroid usage is irritability, short-sightedness, and hostile outbursts.” Eddie waits to see if the words sink it. “But if both of you are clean, then you can both just rein it in, call it a draw. If you can handle that, it proves to everyone that you aren’t dosing, right?”

“If you’re both lucky, maybe nobody gets arrested because you only harmed yourselves and each other,” Bobby throws in as if to sweeten the pot. “Just step away from each other and let us do our jobs.”

That wins over the sore loser without the sponsorship. He moves closer to Eddie who guides him away. The reigning champion, however, doesn't make his way to Bobby. He takes a swipe at his unwitting opponent, but before the sucker punch lands, Eddie intercepts his wrist. Taking his knees out from under him, Eddie has the scrambling fighter in a ground hold, keeps his hands pinned behind his back. He’s a mess of blood and sweat, but he goes nowhere.

“Firefighter Diaz, you can tap out now.”

Looking up Eddie sees Athena Grant. Gun holstered, calm, and unimpressed.

All at once Eddie releases his hold and expertly rolls away. When champ tries to give chase, Athena swipes his legs back out from under him. Then the cuffs come out.

* * *

Shuffling the title chasers to Hen, Chim, and separate ambulances is hassle-free once they are both in handcuffs. The crowd of eager bloodbath viewing bystanders applauds Eddie and Bobby on their way out of the ring before the police thin them out with a warning. Eddie sees familiar faces the throng of onlookers. Competitors, bet placers, the lot of them. Wonders if any of them recognize him back on the way out.

“Excellent work, Eddie,” Bobby says after, clapping his shoulder. They're all back at the station, accepting their heroes welcome and swapping stories with the B-Team about the Cap and Eddie climbing into the ring. Chimeny’s version of events already sounds a tad too outlandish, but they generally always do.

Buck is the only one not smiling. He walks off when he notices Eddie is looking.

Outside, the patrol car that was following the ambulance parks and the lone, imposing figure of Mrs. Robert Nash appears. A sea of firefighters parts before her as she enters the station, a path cut straight to Bobby. Eddie tries to edge his way out. But Athena’s got him in her sights just the same.

“Is there a reason you didn't wait for police reinforcement?” Athena demands. Her sunglasses hide her real expression but her eyes are surely narrow and locked on her husband.

“A crunch for time. Blood loss and… other variables. Intervention was in the patient’s best interest.”

“And that's all? Not my husband finding legal loopholes because he's fretting over me?”

“Of course not,” Bobby insists.

“Technically, I had him in a legal hold, so—” Eddie points out. Athena raises an eyebrow. “Right, not funny. I’ll just go that way now.” And Eddie’s feet carry him off. He can go toe to toe with the worst of them, but he knows when he’s outmatched.

*

Athena sticks around the station so her husband can cook her an apology dinner. Through sheer willpower only the sergeant seems capable of, she keeps the bell from ringing long enough for the homemade pot pies to bake.

They're all tucking into their food while Chimney and Buck are still bickering over which fighter was juicing and which they could take out in a fight. Eddie barely hears it; their future brother-in-law arguments are too routine, and Eddie still feels the tug of adrenaline in his blood. Fight night couldn't get here fast enough.

“Of course Cap couldn't choose you. We wanted them to stop fighting, Buck, not give them a new target.”

“Then that rules you out then, Chim. Your face is the most punchable.”

“Hey, your sister loves this face!”

Buck’s thinking up a retort and reaches over to steal Eddie's bread roll when he thinks he's not looking. “Ow,” Buck complains when Eddie jabs him with the butt of his fork. He rubs his hand, looking wounded. “You know, Athena, I told them not to do it.”

Athena’s knife clatters to her plate. “You are telling me that Buck of all people saw what a terrible idea it was, and you all didn’t take that as a sign?”

Bobby is too preoccupied with over-chewing a mouthful of food to answer. Eddie figures he may as well own up to it. “We just had to slow them down, separate them before the bled out on the mat.”

Athena shakes her head. “I understand the impulse to knock a little sense into people, I deal with it every day. But there are protocols, regulations. Does this firehouse want another lawsuit?” Buck visibly wilts in his chair. Athena pats him on the shoulder and continues. “If the owner of that gym decides to sue because anything was mishandled—”

“Nah, he wouldn’t do that. Moe’s a good guy.” Everyone looks confused for a second before Eddie explains. “He owns the gym. Hates lawyers, but he loves cops and firefighters. Vets, too.”

“Wait, can we back up to the part where Eddie knows a gym owner named Moe?” Chimney cuts in. “Lemme guess, he's an ex-boxer with a Brooklyn accent, complains about the good old days before they started fixing fights? A real Scorsese type?”

“No accent, but yeah, pretty much,” Eddie admits. 

“Who’s Scorsese?” Buck asks, distracted. “And how do you know the owner of some hole-in-wall? When did that happen?”

“I know we don’t get paid the best but you really can afford a better membership, Eddie,” Hen jokes.

“Hate all you want but the perks can’t be beat. I got an after-hours pass. Best workouts I’ve had in years.”

Buck doesn’t look convinced. 

“Perks or no, the place was sketchy, Ed.” Buck’s voice trails off and never picks up again. The conversation morphs into Chimney needing to buy the perfect gift for Maddie’s birthday, something Buck could certainly weigh in on. But he stays quiet, so quiet Eddie knows there is more he isn’t saying. He can tell by the way Buck looks Eddie up and down for the rest of the meal. His face with the same look he wore trying to bar Eddie from climbing into the fray. Jaw set with his lips pressed together, caught in the perpetual motion of almost saying _something—_ but the words don’t come. Caution and wariness are not looks Buck pulls off well; an ill fit for features that color his slate grey eyes in the wrong light.

Eddie slides his last bread roll onto Buck’s place. Voicelessly urging him; _eat_. Buck takes the offering, his suspicious look lessening only a fraction.

* * *

The rest of the shift is uneventful. With the exception of the smoking microwave incident in the galley and the fact that there’s only so much that can be done to stave off Buck and Chimney and their future brother-in-law arguments. The two of them are worse than ever. Neither Eddie nor Hen knows who's starting it at this point, let alone how to stop them.

“When I've tricked Maddie into marrying me, the first thing I'm gonna do is convince her to disown you.”

“You wouldn't make it through one Buckley Thanksgiving without me. Maddie will divorce you by New Year’s.”

“You wish, Buckeroo. I'll be the son in law your parents always dreamed of.”

“Good luck with that. Just remember Your firstborn son is gonna be named after me. Little Evan Han. Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

“You take that back!”

Eddie never had a brother. He's got an army of sisters and a few near brothers-in-law he's done his best not to be friends with. He was always ready to drop any of them at a moment’s when if his sisters wised up and broke off their engagements. Hen says Karen's got as many brothers as Eddie has sisters. According to Karen is mostly normal. Mostly.

Shannon had had brothers. Two of them, both older, both too busy for their own family. They had left Shannon to care for their mother all on her own. Figured it was the job of the only daughter, not two grown men. It had been hard, all the time Shannon had to split time between Los Angeles and El Paso when Eddie's deployment was up. In the end, her trying to be a good daughter, good wife, good mother all at once had stopped her from achieving any of the three. She cut bait and ran from El Paso. Eddie and Christopher had barely caught up with her by the time she lost her life in an L.A. street. That was when her brothers had decided to care; arriving at the funeral just in time to blame Eddie for the accident and all that resulted from it. After the service, they’d pointed fingers and made it clear that Chris wouldn’t be seeing his uncles ever again. Running, it seemed, turned out to be a family trait.

Eddie tells himself that the punch he wants to throw isn’t symptomatic of anything. The itch under his skin counting down the minutes and seconds until shift change, until the weekend when he can find a match. It doesn’t mean anything.

* * *

“So what comes with an after-hours pass?” Buck asks poking around in Eddie’s gym bag when the relief firefighters report for duty. They’re the last pair in the locker rooms. Buck has been dressed and ready for the longest, but he is lingering closely. Waiting on Eddie, waiting to get him alone.

“I get a quiet gym all to myself. No lines, no wait times. Not much else to tell.”

“Haven't you ever heard of the buddy system? Who is spotting you?”

Eddie muffles a laugh. “If I did any workout that requires a spot all by myself, I'd deserve whatever happened to me.”

Buck doesn’t like that answer. “So this guy just lets your use his gym when it's not open?” Buck’s disbelieving tone returns. He’s watching Eddie too closely. “That’s gotta be some kind of an OSHA violation.”

In truth, Eddie had earned his less than legal privileges when he won Moe big money in one of the fights near the scrap heap. It had been maybe the third or fourth of Eddie’s brawls, still in the early days when he was ducking and avoiding nights when Bosko was there, too. Moe had been impressed by his winnings and passed Eddie’s name along to one of the bigger name fight promoters. That’s when Eddie started seeing his share of the money, too.

“I just know the right people,” Eddie smooths over. “I know how to make friends.”

“You say that like I can't.” A flash of hurt on Buck’s face comes and goes. A little offense taken.

“You hated me the first second you saw me.” 

“No, that wasn't…” Buck flounders. “I didn't— I didn’t hate you.”

“Yes, you did.” Eddie smiles. Buck’s still cute when he’s flustered. “But it doesn’t matter because we’re good now. So don’t worry about it.” Eddie claps buck on the shoulder before heading out to his ride. He vaguely catches something Buck says as the door swing closed, about how it does matter, and it matters very much.

* * *

Eddie slips in the backdoor of Rockwell’s with his keycard. A little red light turns green and lock unlatches. It’s a fancy amendment for the fire door that doesn’t match the low-tech facilities everywhere else. Moe was probably pocketing the extra cash he made on the side. Used enough to keep the lights on the law looking the other way. 

The place doesn't look any better in the night time. The over-bright ceiling lights are off, except for a few recessed fluorescent bulbs that never turned off in the hallways. The low light travels and throws blank shadows from every piece of bent iron and molded steel and hanging OUT OF ORDER signs. The paint chips over exposed brick and the floors were scuffed and marred and that's where Eddie drops his gym bag. He doesn’t bother with the locker rooms. Strips off his street shirt and gears up. In the open, there’s no windows or mirrors. There’s no counting the bruises in varying stages of healing over his skin.

The marks are getting harder and harder to hide. Not to mention Eddie needing to wait longer and longer to use the work lockers alone. Ever since Buck’s lawsuit let him return to work, he was always hanging around too close.

Eddie’s barely settled into the rhythm of his warm-up when he hears it. The sound of footsteps where there shouldn’t be. He looks up from the punching bag, and he’s not sure who else he expected; “What are you doing here, Buck?”

Buck is in street clothes, wearing Sweats and a hoodie, hands stuffed in his front pocket. He looks weary but resolute. “You said there’d be perks. I’m here to see them.”

“I told you before, part of the bonus is an empty gym. ” Eddie reaches out and grabs the swinging bag, steadiest it under his wrapped hands. “How did you get in here anyway? Did you follow me here?”

He shrugs, pulling off his hoodie and saunters over to Eddie. “There's a dozen gyms closer to your place or the station. Nicer ones, too. But you picked _this_ one.”

“Does it matter?”

“Maybe if you worked out on equipment that wasn’t a hundred years old, you wouldn't have so many bruises. That’s where you got those, right?” He points to Eddie's elbows. 

No. Those had been from when Eddie hit the deck, dodging a roundhouse and lost his footing in sweat. A graceless fall, followed by a graceless charge at his opponent's midsection. The other guy tapped out thirty seconds later. A good fight.

Eddie brushes him off. “Wouldn't you like to know, Buck.”

“I'm asking because I want to know!” Buck breathes out a hard exasperated breath. “I keep asking questions and I get nothing out of you, Eddie.”

“Because there’s nothing to tell. They’re just bumps and scrapes, Buck—”

“Maybe I could believe that if they were on anyone else. But not on you.” Buck sounds hollowed out, tired. Almost as if he’s sick of this argument they are only just now having for the first time. “Something is up with you, it has been for a while. You’re not yourself. You’re on eleven, constantly. And you're pushy, and agitated and taking stupid risks. I mean, you remember when you used to be the guy yelling at me for taking stupid risks? Where is that Eddie? Because he’s not the guy who convinced our captain he could get between a fistfight, saying he could ‘ _take them down’_ —”

“No, I said _‘talk’_ them down.” It's a feeble lie. Buck sees right through it.

“I know what I heard.” Buck pushes his way into Eddie’s space, wedging himself between Eddie and the punching bag. “What I don’t know is why you’re lying all the time. Why you can’t just come to me about it.” Buck doesn’t mean to do it, but he advances forward and doesn’t stop. Eddie’s choices are to pace back, give him room, or to stand straight and let Buck walk right into him. They’d be face to face, chest to chest— and no telling what will happen then.

It may be the last reserve of good judgment Eddie has left, but he steps back. “You’re one to talk, Buck,” he counters. “I should come to you with my problems? Like you did with the lawsuit?”

Buck waivers. His eyes dart away from Eddie. “You said you forgave me for that.”

“I did,” Eddie assures him. He’s treading backward, wanting to kick something for the wounded look on Buck’s face. “But you should be able to appreciate that sometimes you’ve gotta handle things on your own.”

“You’re not being fair, Eddie.” Buck’s voice is brittle, strangled almost. “I didn’t walk around looking like I’d been through a meat grinder and expect you to be okay with it.”

“The bruises aren’t that bad—” Eddie insists. Buck is making a deal out of nothing.

“Yeah? Then prove it,” Buck challenges. “Take off your shirt.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. He plants his feet and tugs the hem of his undershirt down further. There are red lines and dark healing spots over his abdomen that Buck doesn’t need to see. It would only make things worse to come clean now. Eddie could never explain why he needs it; every bruise and mark. How he needs it to hurt. Hurt the way it did when they leave and Eddie was always right there, waiting and still. Eddie is the one who didn’t budge. Eddie is the one who comes running when they change their minds. Eddie stayed still and stayed in the hurt until he couldn’t anymore. And no one gets to judge him for it now.

“Back off, Buck.”

The open silent space around them feels airless and compressed. Buck’s anger radiates throughout it, slow and hot and glaring. “Eddie, if you have nothing to hide, take it off.”

“No.”

Eddie knows Buck is going to do it before he even follows through with the motion. Letting out a noise of pure frustration, Buck lunges at Eddie hard, arms wild. 

They both go down.

Winding up in the ring, they roll under the ropes and across the mat in a desperate tussle. They are all limbs and cheap shots, throwing elbows and trying to maneuver the other under. All of Eddie’s know-how from the street fights floods out of his head. He can’t move fast enough, he can’t counter in time. He’s left flailing and panting. Because it's Buck, because he can’t let himself-- 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Eddie hisses, locking on of Buck’s arms in a hold.

“Really?” he huffs back, breath hot to Eddie’s skin. “Not even a little?”

“I said no,” he growls. With all his might and his forearms pressed to Buck’s chest, Eddie manages to throw Buck clean off of him. They both bounce back, shooting up to their feet. With heaving breaths, Eddie watches Buck watching him. They move around each other, neither getting too close.

“We can keep this up all night or we can call it now, Buck.”

Flushed and a little adrenaline drunk, Buck is unphased. “All night sounds good to me.” 

“I could also take a shot at that glass jaw of yours,” Eddie cautions, knowing damn well he’d never do it, “but I doubt it would make you feel better.” Buck flicks his knuckle to his mandible, looking confused. “Not your literal jaw, Buck. But you favor your left too heavily, you don’t keep your guard up, and that fragile ego of yours will finish the fight for me.”

“Now my ego is the problem?”

“The problem is your feelings are hurt because I can’t tell you everything I’m doing every second— that you thought you had to follow me here at all.”

“This isn’t about me, or what I feel, Eddie!” Buck lurches forward, feet pounding the mat. He’s dropped his guard again, of course. “This about you, and all the injuries you’re hiding. This is about you not taking care of yourself, or worse. Fuck, if something happens to you because I didn’t push hard enough, how do you expect me to live with myself?”

“Everyone has the right to their own choices, good or bad.” Eddie knows the words are obstinate and that he is making excuses. But he needs this. He can’t give it up.

“Do you know that Maddie stalked a woman?” Buck asks out of nowhere. Of all the blows Eddie expects, that is certainly not among them. 

“What?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t believe it either when she told me.” Buck looks almost contrite as if he blamed himself for his sister's choices. “But she did it. She stalked a caller after they dialed 9-1-1, she lied to her, worked her way into her life because she was trying to help her. Maddie knew it was wrong to do it, but maybe it's in the Buckley genes? Maybe we can't just walk away when something is obviously wrong. Maybe we just can’t leave it alone.”

That lands harder than any punch. Eddie wants to recoil from the impact, lessen the blow. “Buck—”

“My sister broke the law, nearly lost her job, all trying to save a stranger. A _stranger_ , Eddie. Now imagine what the hell I'm gonna do to _you_ if you don't talk to me?” Buck’s voice echoes through the rafters. He’s in Eddie’s face with a pointed finger against his chest. “I will follow you, I will chase you, and I won’t stop. You are not pushing me out, do you hear me?”

Eddie wants to argue but he can’t slow his breathing, can’t wrest his speeding heart. They aren’t moving but the world is spinning by him. Too fast, too much at once. It is a brutal realization; that this time he’s been the one doing the running. That he is the one leaving someone who loves him behind. Eddie’s learned to shoulder a great deal, to fight down his emotions, trade on physical pain instead; but Buck’s pleading stare weighs on him more than any of it.

He can barely find his voice. “It’s not that simple, Buck.”

“Then make it simple!”

Eddie fills up with one final desperate thought: he could make a break for it. Turn and slide out under the ropes without ever making an admission. But Buck dives for his arm to pull him back. He tries to wrench his hand away but it's too late, Buck’s lips are against Eddie’s ear, words harsh and ragged. “I will stay here all night, all day. I will fight you if I have to. But you’re not going anywhere until you tell me the truth—” 

Eddie pivots back and sweeps Buck’s feet from under him, watches the other man’s eyes go frozen over with stunned surprise. Buck reaches out for him as his back hits the ring barrier. The ropes pull taut when Eddie leans over his body and closes the gap between them, his mouth crashing into Buck’s as a last resort. Kissing him because it's long overdue, because it's all the honesty he can afford.

Buck shoves him away.

Eddie can’t control the tremor in his hands from the way they already miss touching him. He can’t bring himself to apologize to the panicked look Buck gives him, either. “See? I told you, it’s not that simple—”

Buck launches at him.

All Eddie can do is hold on. Buck is everywhere, on top of him, hands in his hair, legs locked together; he pushes Eddie back against the scuff marked mat and kisses his mouth with excoriating slowness. There is a burning impatience behind his taste; something pained and accusatory. In all the times Eddie has dreamt of kissing Buck it was never like this. He had imagined something quick, dirty and needy. Never the hasteless intensity, never so deliberate or possessive. 

They draw apart to breathe but still, Buck isn’t rushing. His mouth moves searchingly down the column of Eddie’s neck as they both gasp. He finds knicks in Eddie’s five o’clock shadow and presses his tongue to an old scar from Baghdad and the frayed collar of his undershirt and—

 _Shit_.

Before he can react Buck pulls the damn thing off. His breath hitches at the sight.

“Fuck,” Buck whispers brokenly. “What did you do to yourself?”

Four matches in a single fight night took their toll. Eddie had bandaged what he could but most of the patchwork of contusions is on full display; an array of red, yellow and purple brandished about his abdomen.

“I am gonna kill you, Eddie,” Buck croaks through a thick throat as he leans down to kiss Eddie again. “I swear, I’m gonna kill you myself.”

Face burning with shame, Eddie says nothing as he wrestles them over. Buck goes willingly but still murmuring life-ending threats in miserable disbelief. Buck lets himself be pinned to the mat where Eddie’s hands find his waist. It elicits a trace of a shiver from Buck. He might like Eddie’s grip there under better circumstances. Perhaps a time when he wasn’t so fucking heartbroken by the state of his partner.

“It's not as bad as it looks,” he promises.

“Shut up.” Buck snaps. He’s working the drawstring to Eddie’s pants and pulling his dick free before slipping down his own shorts. “I mean it, Eddie. Just shut up and move.”

So Eddie moves. He grinds down against Buck with hard rhythmic thrusts. Searching for just the right friction. Skin against skin, their breathless sounds echo through the cavernous gym and fill up the dark. In the low light, Buck avoids Eddie’s eyes like he can’t stand to look at him at first. But he hisses in unexpected pleasure and his hips strain up and as he clutches his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and returns the gaze he finds there. There’s a furious passion burning in his eyes that Eddie wants to satiate as much as he wants to alleviate it. He drags another kiss out of Buck and another after that. Their teeth clash and tongues tangle and Buck gasps deliciously.

“Eddie…” Buck warns. His chest is heaving. They are both battling to keep oxygen down. They were getting close.

Wrapping a fist around them, Eddie pumps up and down at an erratic rate. He tries to manage something closer to an exploratory pace but its too much when Buck looks like that; face flushed, eyes half-lidded, and his too-red mouth slack and open and perfect. Eddie pulls harder, grip going lousy and rough. Buck groans and shakes and his hands scatter over the mat below him searching for something to hold onto. 

“Eddie!” he gasps again.

“Not yet,” Eddie begs him. He wants more than just frotting. He wants to put his mouth on Buck everywhere he can find. He wants to taste and swallow and find his pressure spots and pleasure points and see how many different ways he can make Buck unravel. He wants everything.

Buck goes tense as a bowstring. Every muscle in his body visibly tight and overworked. He throws his head back and digs his nails into Eddie’s skin and makes a mess out of the both of them. Eddie can’t last much longer at the sight of it and he comes, shuddering and cursing like the wind is knocked out of him. He lands half collapsed on top of Buck who holds him close. Both of them down for the count.

* * *

Eddie’s only got one pair of shower sandals. He had never had reason to pack more than one. So he let Buck go first and slip them as he enters Rockwell’s poky little shower room. Eddie’s seated on a flimsy bench attached to the wall watching Buck stand under a blast of hot water. He’s beautiful; lean and toned and perfect. It's far too inviting for him to wait his turn, so Eddie decides, fuck it, and walks into the showers with his tennis shoes on. He’s got his work boots in the truck and there’s no way he’s standing on this gray line tile and grout with his bare feet.

“There’s better water pressure at my gym,” complains Buck when Eddie wraps his arms around him from the back.

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

Quips aside, Buck turns to Eddie so they are chest to chest. He holds Eddie’s face with both his hand and wipes stray drops of water from his brow. His hands move lower and lower until they find the mass of bruises that sting to the touch.

“It's just from sparring matches, Buck.”

“Bullshit.” Buck turns away again. He lathers up with the sample size bottle from Eddie’s gym bag and scrubs at his skin. “If I was the one standing there looking like someone beat me into a bloody pulp, what would you do, Eddie?”

“Buck—”

“I mean it. Picture it, even. Imagine me just scarred up and bashed around and telling you to get over it.”

The unbidden image is more than Eddie can take. “Stop.”

Buck shakes his head. He works more lather into his hands and soaps Eddie up. “You would be losing your mind and you know it.”

“You’ve made your point.”

“Have I?” Buck asks. His voice has a higher lilt. It is more uneven in the way it always is when he’s worried or nervous or sarcastic. “If I did this to you, Eddie,” Buck jabs an accusatory finger into the angriest bruise on his bare chest, “you would never forgive me. You wouldn't let it go or let me out of your sight. You wouldn’t accept excuses or lies. Because I know you would tear this entire city apart before letting me hurt myself.”

Eddie closes his eyes. He can’t deny it. “Yeah, I would.”

“So just… don't do it to me. I’m not going to ask you about it anymore. I don’t even think I want to know. I just want you, alright?” They lean closer together in the tight tiled space. With his forehead pressed to Eddie’s, Buck mouths something silently below the steady rush of water. If Eddie had to try and make out the words, he’d guess they were ‘I love you’ and ‘please stop’.

Buck kisses him unhurried and deep and leaves a desperate aftertaste in Eddie's mouth.

“I just want you to be you again,” he whispers when they pull apart. “I want my Eddie back.”

He sounds less sure now. He sounds more scared, fragile even as if everything between them might break apart right here and now if he pushes too hard. Like Eddie might be gone and there was nothing he could do about it. Eddie never wants to hear him sound like that again.

“I’m right here, Buck. I promise.” Eddie kisses his shoulder and pressed their bodies tighter together under the warm water. Buck resists for a moment, afraid to lean against the swath of bruises but Eddie insists, tugs on his shoulders until he relaxes. They stay that way for the longest, standing still in their shared silence, breathing in the steam. It is then, holding Buck up that Eddie feels the familiar itch under his skin again. The pull of a fight in his blood mixing in with the afterglow. Not a longing for a match, but understanding that this here with Buck, or anywhere at all, was something he could fight for. Fight to keep him close and fight to earn back his trust. Fight for it all no matter the odds or the costs because Eddie was going to win.

_**fin.** _

**Author's Note:**

> {101 Prompt #6: Fragile}


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